Once Upon A Time
by CluelessKitten
Summary: She is fire, danger, crackling life itself and he finds that he cannot stay away. (Gender-bent AU)
1. Once Upon A Time

_Once Upon A Time  
_

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,

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"Who are you?"

It's the first thing she asks, the very first time they meet. _Who are you?_

I am ice.

I am snow.

I am winter.

I am death.

But he looks at the pretty little thing floating in front of him, clutching a crooked staff in her tiny, tiny hands, and his throat dries up. She watches him with blue, blue eyes full of a child's curiosity. Her hair billows around her, white and messy and pure as freshly fallen snow. He thinks of fae creatures and wonders if she is one of them.

"I am Elson of Arendelle," he manages, glad his voice comes out steady. "And who might you be?"

She straightens up, a large grin adorning her pale face. She flies up the air in a flurry of snowflakes, declaring, "I am Jack Frost!"

Her magic mingles with his, innocent and sweet and Elson responds accordingly. …Or he tries to. He hasn't done this before, but she smiles and she laughs, flying in the air freer than a bird. A small envy nips Elson's heart at the sight of her – neither can he suppress the small anxiety growing inside him that she will rise high, high, higher than the clouds and disappear from him. Perhaps he will wake up and find this meeting to be a bizarre dream, a product of too many days spent alone in a palace too vast and too cold for one person.

He reaches out; by chance or by fate, he catches her ankle and she squeaks as he gently but insistently tugs her down to the ground. Even then, she floats, her bare feet never once touching the ground.

Jack is real. Jack is solid. Jack is magic – pure, unadulterated magic – and he wonders how she has survived in the world for so long. He invites her back to his palace, insistent that her answer will be yes. She draws him in like air into a flame – she is fire, danger, crackling _life_ and little shivers slide up and down his spine when she hesitantly takes his hand. Her skin is cool and soft and paler than his but he tries not to linger on it for too long.

Elson walks proudly, head held high when they come into view of his home. Jack is in awe and curious, so very curious. He answers her questions and she beams at him as if he is the best person in the world, which is something so new and wonderful and unexpected that he nearly weeps. It has been so long since anyone has even smiled at him.

They sit down in a pleasant little room with comfortable chairs placed in front of an exquisite imitation of a fireplace he had carved out some time ago. They talk, they laugh, they exchange sympathetic little noises well into the night and even past the late morning. As they talk, something in Elson exults – Jack is alone, just as much as he. And though he knows it is improper, knows it is most probably too much too soon – Jack is fire and danger, he knows this, he _feels_ it – he offers her a place in his palace. It isn't a sacrifice; he has more than enough space to spare. But something is happening, something that he can probably figure out if he gives it just a little more thought, but he refuses, and it stays out of reach.

Disappointingly, she declines the offer – he can't even begin to imagine why, but she does. However, she promises to visit and Elson decides that that is enough for now.

Time slips between them with Jack making good on her promise. Elson fills his spare time with various endeavors – some noble, some not but that is a story for another day – and listens to the strange and rather fantastical stories Jack has a tendency of returning with. Some of them are rather alarming – she tells of falling into the sea one point, in some odd quest for a sighting of dolphins – but they are altogether received in good humor; she has, after all, returned to him without fail despite whatever she might actually have gone through on her travels.

Still, he worries. Perhaps a little too much. But they are friends – she says so, shyly, perhaps on her fourth visit and he is so unspeakably glad (and, oddly, somewhat irate) that he cannot keep himself from pinching her cheeks. They are friends and it is his right to fret over a young girl travelling the length of the world alone.

There are times, in Jack's stories, when she mentions people. It isn't terribly often, thank goodness, but it happens and Elson isn't sure whether he is glad or somewhat upset when it does. Jack is happy in the telling of those stories, with the little antics that children and sometimes even adults are wont to do. But Elson doesn't even truly understand why she insists on visiting the populace as she does and he doesn't understand why they would make her quite _so_ happy. Wasn't Elson enough? Enough for her to stay? What did he lack that she found in the world? It was a conundrum; one he didn't appreciate.

,

One day, she brings him a present.

"Merry Christmas," she murmurs shyly as she practically shoves the clumsily-wrapped package into his hands.

"But I didn't get you anything."

She waves his half-hearted protests away and eventually, Elson slowly, carefully, gently unwraps the gift.

In all honesty, it isn't much. It's not even the sort of thing Elson even likes; it's not useful for anything at all. It's a … trinket. A decoration. 'It' is a little ice sculpture carved in an intricate little design of a snowflake – ' _no two are ever alike_ ' – and it fits right into the palm of his hand.

But Jack gives it to him, _she gives it to him_ and he accepts it without complaint or even a 'thank you'. She has stolen his voice, his words, and he chokes on the air as he holds the gift up to his eyes and nods as if it were merely acceptable. Yet, his heart is so full it feels as if it will burst and there's something pricking his eyes. He squeezes Jack's hand, hoping that it will be enough; later, he carefully places the sculpture on the nightstand next to his bed. He holds it, sometimes, feeling the edges and tracing its pattern and he feels warm.

Someday, Elson will give Jack a present, too. Something that will mean just as much to her as her gift means to him.

But … she wants the world. Yet, what is _in_ the world?

Elson thinks and thinks and thinks and thinks. He can't come up with anything feasible right now but an idea will come. He has time – they have time. All the time in the world.

,

With an almost painful slowness, Jack's visits lengthen and sometimes she now stays in one of the guest bedrooms in the palace. Elson lets her lure him away from his workrooms, happily participating in her little games for as long as she'll have him. One day, during a walk outside after a heavy snowstorm, Jack abruptly runs ahead of Elson – and promptly hits him straight in the face with a snowball. The game is on. Hastily-packed clumps of snow flies in the air but there are no winners in the end. Only two very out-of-breath people lying on the snowy ground side by side, panting as they insisted on who managed to hit who with the most snowballs.

Face still flushed, Jack rolls onto her side to face Elson better. She thus begins an impressively lengthy monologue about just how exactly she has won, but Elson finds himself a bit too focused on her flushed cheeks, the slight pout of her lips, the messy state of her hair…

He kisses her.

It's small and light and chaste but it shocks Jack all the same. Elson wants to ask if it's her first – surely, it _must_ be because he might just go mad if it isn't – but that would break the moment.

He kisses her again, a little longer this time, and he finds that he doesn't quite know what to do with himself. Elson is deep in unchartered territory and he tries moving forward cautiously. But Jack is soft and cool and sweet and he draws closer to her, the weak little moth to her fire. He wonders, a little guiltily, if she knows what's happening or whether she understands it – she is young, so much younger than he is but he _knows_ she must have seen this before, young couples sharing kisses in the winter snow. It is, if he remembers correctly from his own time growing up, considered romantic.

For a long while, Jack gapes at him and he laughs and traps her in his arms, refusing to let her rise and fly off into the horizon. Not now. Not today.

"Stay," he murmurs, pressing his lips to Jack's cheek. "The children can wait."

Something changes between them that day, something unspoken and so beautiful that Elson can hardly describe. They are freer with their actions now, although there are some places they haven't dared yet venture. He basks in the physical contact that Jack is wont to tentatively share with him, practically glowing when she reaches out for his hands or, on the rarest, most glorious occasions when _she_ kisses _him_. They are clumsy with each other at first, unknowing and inexperienced concerning anything related to intimacy. They take things slow, letting them sweeten as time passes by. Jack's visits quickly become longer and more frequent, and Elson wonders when it is that she will finally – _finally_ – consent to stay.

On a lazy afternoon, with their hands intertwined as they sit close together on a thick rug Jack had brought back from a distant country, she suddenly asks, "What are we?"

Elson starts at the question but knows that this talk is overdue. Still, he clears his voice and tries to collect his words, finding that the speech that he has constructed in his head some months ago has inconveniently dissipated. "Well," he says slowly, buying himself time. "We are … together."

"More than friends?" she asks, anxiously, hopefully, and he gently strokes her snow white hair, pulling her closer to him until she is up against his chest. He tucks her head under his chin, wrapping his arms securely around her as she clings to him like a large child.

"Much more than friends."

"What, then?"

"That … is a tricky question. One that you will have to help me answer." He pulls away from her then, and makes her face him, makes her meet his eyes. "I love you." He says the words clearly without any hope for misunderstanding, and waits with a loudly beating heart for her answer.

"You love me," Jack whispers, her eyes wide at hearing it for the first time. She is lovely and sweet but Elson will not kiss her until he hears her answer.

"I love you."

"I…" Jack pauses, her eyes flickering slightly, and Elson's heart sinks. "I love you very much," she decides with a deliberation that almost insults him. Her cheeks blush brightly at the statement and Elson cannot stop the soft smile from forming on his lips.

"You sound as if you had to think about it," he teases, pressing his lips to her forehead. It occurs to him, then, that perhaps she _hasn't_ before given much thought about love – what it is, how it feels, and the way it takes over your heart and your life. It's not something they've talked about overly much but it might be the case and it worries him; what does Jack think they've been doing together all this time? Was this a game to her? Elson very dearly hopes not.

"I – well, I haven't really thought about – _that_ – before. About love." She stops, trying to gather and organize her thoughts. Quietly, Elson sits back, watching and waiting. "I … I like being here, so very much. And I like – I _love_ – being with you. A-and," she adds, blushing even brighter than before, "I like kissing you."

Ah. Elson smiles, pecking her lips lightly. "Do you, now?"

"Y-yeah. Is this … love?"

It might be. It _can_ be and if he has anything to say about the matter, it will. Elson kisses Jack deeply and she tries to match his pace, tries to breathe through it, through the heat that comes with being so close to him. Her skin chills Elson even as he presses closer to her and she is cool and soft and lithe against him. He engulfs her almost completely, a greedy hunger rising up within him with every touch, with every little sound she makes. "I love you," he breathes over and over. "I love you…"

But now is not the time – not yet, even if it's so _tempting_ and Elson feels as if he might die of want when Jack gently but insistently pushes away from him. It's not time, not now … but someday. Very, very softly, he presses his lips to her fingers, a small promise for the future.

"We are lovers," he says, his throat dry as he takes in how ruffled he's made Jack. It's a bit redundant, but speaking the words out loud sends a thrill up his spine, at knowing the fact, at being able to finally _say_ it. As an afterthought, he adds, a bit suspiciously, "you can only do this with _me_."

Jack's laughter echoes through the small room but she promises that, yes, he is her only one.

,

There are days, Elson notices, when Jack holds onto him and simply refuses to let go. There are also days when she wanders aimlessly within the palace with an odd melancholy that nothing can chase away. Everything passes in their time, of course, but they do happen and he wonders at her odd moods. Her smiles don't touch her eyes, then, and he has the odd feeling that she might simply be humoring him. Yet, it is in Jack's nature to be happy, to be _alive_ and so he never worries about it too much. As long as Jack is with him, she is safe.

Sometimes, she comes to him in tears, weeping about some unfortunate soul or other. He gladly holds her, then, whispering reassurances in her ear as she clings to him in all her misery. Jack, Elson realizes, despises just how cold winter can be as she grieves over a disturbingly small corpse she had found at the edge of the nearby forest the other day.

"Children are fragile," Elson tries to reason through her tears. "And all living things die, eventually. It was just the little one's time."

"It _shouldn't_ have been!" she insists stubbornly whenever he says so. "Not so young! It's not fair."

With a touch of amusement, he responds, " _life_ isn't fair."

"I can't see how you can smile while we talk about something like this." Jack sighs softly, running a pale hand through her snow white tresses. "Don't you care?"

"Everything must pass away," Elson says diplomatically. "You know this; our very _season_ marks the death of a year, of living things."

Petulantly, she crosses her arms, glaring at the floor. "That doesn't mean I'm happy about it."

He holds her, then, and kisses her lightly. "Certainly, you do not have to be. You love children," Elson murmurs, almost jealously.

"Of course!" She laughs softly. "Don't you?"

He only smiles and kisses her again.

,

Elson smiles widely as he leads a blindfolded Jack down the hall. He has a gift, a surprise, one on which he has worked for several years now. It's been difficult to put together but it is finished and this will be _it_. Jack won't leave anymore after this; everything she wants, that she can ask for, will be right here at the palace with him and she will never leave ever again. She will finally – _finally_ – be his as he has been hers for so long now. Excitedly, he leads her down, down, down to the levels of the palace well beneath the earth. No natural light falls here and so a simple spell has the walls give off a gentle glow.

They enter a special room together, the room with the gift. Once there, Elson unties the blindfold.

Jack blinks, looks, stares. He knows she can feel the life magic in the room, the aura it exudes. Eagerly, he watches her slowly approach the large ice statue with something close to trepidation in her eyes.

"Do you like him?" Elson asks. "I know you love children, so I did this – for you."

"A sculpture of … a child?" She swallows. "It's very … lifelike." Slowly, hesitantly, she touches the statue–

Jack jumps back, screaming as if she'd just been burned. Her voice rings in Elson's ears and he is by her side in no time.

"What's wrong? Why do you dislike it? I made it just for you!"

"He's alive!" she screams. "He's – he's one of the little boys in the village!"

"Yes, yes, he is. What of it?" Elson pulls Jack into his arms, rubbing her back, willing her to calm down. "I thought you loved children."

Her small fist lands on Elson's shoulder as she shouts, "You turned him into an ice statue! You – why would you – _why_ –?!"

He catches Jack's wrists, gently but firmly stopping her rather ineffective violence. "As a gift," he says confusedly. A small ache blooms in his chest; he had only wanted to make her happy. "You adore children. You – _leave_ for them. I thought, perhaps, that if we had one here, you might … stay." He looks at her hopefully but even that is dashed as she spits, "well, _you thought wrong_! You – you didn't do this for me! You did this for yourself."

"Perhaps," he says, almost as if to himself. "I'm sorry you dislike it. Please, let's go back upstairs and you can tell me about–"

"We're not doing _anything_ until you turn him back!"

Elson stops. "Jack," he says quietly, controlling himself, "ask me for anything, anything at all except that, and I will gladly give it to you."

"Turn him back!"

He closes his eyes, running a hand down his face. He had spent so much effort in making the perfect gift for Jack and she was… "I am very sorry, but I can't."

"Why not?!" Tears drip down Jack's face and something inside Elson explodes into a panicked haze.

"Jack! Don't – don't cry. Please." He wipes away the salty liquid away from her cheeks even as she stubbornly pushes him with all the strength in her slender arms.

" _Don't touch me_!"

" _Jack_!" His voice has grown angry and louder than hers and she watches with terrified eyes as he grabs her forearms, saying, "I love you! I did this for _you_!" He rests his head against her chest, right where her heart should be, and listens to the steady _ba-thump_ inside her. "I love you," he whispers. "Tell me you love me, too."

"Turn him back," she begs, her voice thick with emotion. "Please, Elson, if you care about me at all…"

" _I can't_."

Nothing is the same after that.

Elson doesn't understand anything anymore. Life has turned into a confusing haze and he's not quite sure how to clear the mist that has drifted over them. Jack is cold and unreceptive, her visits few and far in between. There's a tension in the air whenever they find themselves together in the same room. Nothing is right anymore but he has no idea how to fix this mess. His actions can't be undone and Jack … she hates him now. Still, he is right about one thing; she returns for the little boy. For him and not Elson, Jack returns to the palace time and time again despite everything.

He hates the boy. He hates the children Jack so loves. He hates the weather that apparently cannot function properly without her help and the fact that she thinks spreading frost over window panes was ever more important than him.

Elson hates her – even if he knows it's a lie.

,

"Elson."

He looks up from the papers, right in the middle of recording the results of his latest experiment when he looks up and _sees her_. For the first time in nine months (nine months, three weeks and four days) she has knowingly, _willingly_ walked into the same room as him. Her expression is … sad but still closed off. And yet, Elson is willing to take what he can get.

He has never, not once, stopped being hers.

Elson immediately stands, waving her into the room and she shuffles forward, looking awkward as she approaches. For a while, they are silent; Elson has no idea how to break or ease the tension between them and he suspects that neither does Jack. But she is the one who has come to him, she is the one standing in his workroom.

So, he waits.

Finally:

"I _hate_ this!" The words burst out of Jack, almost explosive and Elson startles again at her suddenness. "This is – everything is all wrong. I've been thinking about it for months and I _still_ don't understand any of it."

A bit wearily, he says, "as I have told you time and time again, I meant it as a gift to you. I see now that I had made a grave mistake. I am sorry. What more can I say?"

"Don't you understand that – that doing it was wrong? How could you ever have thought that I would want – _that_?!"

For a time, Elson is quiet, thinking, measuring his words. "No," he says, knowing full well that what he says next may doom their entire relationship and yet also knowing that kindly lies will destroy it – destroy them – anyways. "I did not consider it wrong." He pauses. "Perhaps, when I was younger, if we were in a time when I still remembered the things that are important, I wouldn't have … done it. But I've lived a long life, Jack, and I've forgotten many things." His voice his burdened and he sighs, running a hand through his hair. "I wanted – I _still_ want – you to stay with me. But not like this." Bitterly, he smiles. "You hate me now."

"I did – I still do, I think, a little bit." She bites her lip. "Don't you even care?"

"About you? Of course. Always, Jack – always."

"Not me – Henrik."

He blinks. "Who?"

Jack closes her eyes for a long moment. "The boy you froze."

"Oh. …No."

Elson can only look on wistfully as Jack shakes her head sadly. "I don't understand."

"Perhaps, that is because there is nothing to understand. This is who I am."

She glances at him sharply before firmly looking away with crossed arms, wondering. "Is this love?"

Elson reaches out but Jack only swats his hand away. Still, he says, "I love you."

"Are you _sure_ that's love?"

The accusation burns him, searing into his skin, his ears, his mind, his heart. There is a truth there, a truth Elson wishes was a lie, but it exists, and it hurts him more than anything else. And Jack – fire, danger, crackling _life_ _itself_ – drives the knife deeper.

"Why did you really do it? Don't tell me that it was a gift." She shudders for a moment before continuing. "Tell me the real reason."

They stare into each other's eyes, a battle of wills. Their magic comes alive, for the first time, antagonistic.

"Do you really want to know the answer?" he breathes, leaning forward on the desk, consciously invading Jack's personal space. Something menacing is rising within Elson, vindictive and destructive, that wishes he would despise Jack, if only he is capable of it.

"Yes."

"Perhaps," he says, honey lacing venom, "I did it because I was jealous. Perhaps I did it to punish you." Abandoning his papers completely, he walks around the desk. To her credit, Jack does not budge, does not flee, doesn't so much as tremble beneath his glare. "Do you realize how utterly maddening you are, little girl? Your _touch_ , your _voice_ , your _smile_ , your _smell_ – you haunt me." Elson slams his hand down on the desk and Jack does a satisfying little jump. He has no idea where his words are coming from but they will not stop and he realizes that they are all horribly _true_. "I think of nothing except you, I would give my life, my _soul_ for you! And yet you insist on flying off to those screaming little brats who don't know any better, who can't even _see_ or _touch_ you." He breathes heavily, stepping close enough to Jack to smell her scent, and even as he hates, as he resents her, something deep in his heart thrills to be so close again. She watches him with terrified eyes and rightly so. "Explain it to me, Jack! Why do you prefer them? Why can you not just have been happy here with me?" He grabs her shoulders, shaking her, screaming, " _Why_?"

Jack flinches, jerking away from him. Her eyes – so blue, so big and blue, he feels like he's never really appreciated them before – are wide and panicking. It insults him; does she think he will hurt her?

"Let go of me," she whispers. Elson acquiesces. She steps away from him, closer to the door. She trembles uncontrollably, unshed tears filling her eyes. "I'm leaving."

Her words are … final and somehow, he understands. She is leaving, leaving _him_. Maybe for a day, maybe for a month, _maybe forever_.

" _Wait_!" he grabs her wrist tight, too tight, and she whirls around, pushing him away with a strength he didn't know she possessed. She shouts at him, tries to pry his fingers off her but he can't hear, can't breath, can't _think_ because she is leaving him. _Leaving_ him! Elson tries to pull her close but Jack simply isn't having it. They struggle together and Jack just won't be quiet, won't stop pushing him away, won't simply calm down and explain to him like he'd asked her to. She just. Won't. _Stop_ –!

A choking sound startles Elson and he realizes – they are on the floor; Jack is beneath him, beautiful even while fighting for air as his hands squeeze her fragile neck.

It's so … easy. Or maybe he's just strong. But a little more pressure in the right direction and he can imagine her head just … snapping with a crack that he might not hear but will definitely feel. His heart beats loud in his ears, tempting him, _daring_ him to–

"Els'n."

Jack's strangled voice drags him out of his thoughts, back into reality. She is begging him, he is … hurting her. Slowly, his fingers relax and he sits back on his heels, watching in odd fascination as Jack gasps, greedily breathing in the cold, cold air. Her hand rubs her neck; angry red bruises are already appearing but Elson forbids himself from looking at them properly.

A sob forces him to look closer, however, and he sees that Jack is crying. Again, he is at a loss and he stares at her in guilty silence as she wails like a frightened child. Looking for comfort, for security. Unwillingly, he sees that discoloration on her neck and he remembers it, that wicked desire to hurt, to destroy, to make Jack as empty and broken as Elson is.

"I thought," he says, falteringly, "that I could give you what you needed." Elson glances at Jack, his fingers hovering over the bruises on her neck. It makes such a pretty contrast… "I thought I could be enough for you – _good_ for you, even."

She curls up protectively on the floor, tears still leaking from her eyes as quiet sobs wrack her chest. He caresses her cheek, moving her head slightly so he can plant a tender kiss on her forehead.

"I love you," he says, and means it. He stands, feeling a rush of affection as he looks at her for what might be the very last time. Finally, he manages, "Go. I won't stop you."

Jack doesn't question him, doesn't even look back as she jumps up from the floor and flies out of the room as fast the wind will take her. The door slams shut behind her, leaving Elson alone in his workroom.

Life becomes colder, more hollow; nevertheless, the days drag on by. Eventually, inevitably, Elson finds himself taking the familiar stairwell down to the room holding his mistake. The ice statue, the boy – _Henrik –_ still stands in the middle of it, untouched by time. He wonders, fleetingly, what it must be like to be a statue and alive at the very same time. Horrible, he decides. It must be horrible.

Hesitantly, he places a hand on the little one's shoulder, feeling the life that still resides within the ice.

"For what it's worth," Elson tells the statue, "I'm sorry."

It's all he says – it's all he _needs_ to say. It doesn't change anything, doesn't change Elson, doesn't change the boy's current state, and Jack is definitely not coming back… but it does make a difference. He knows it, deep inside himself.

And, despite everything, he smiles.

Someday, he will make this right.

,

,

* * *

 **Author's Note** : Thank you for reading this fic! I hope you enjoyed it.

Feedback is greatly appreciated. (This is my first time writing something like ... this.)


	2. Ghost

_Author's Note:_ To the three people who followed an officially completed fic - you're right. It's not done. Here's the second chapter.

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,

,

 _I love you_.

The words echo on and on in her mind, warm but unbearably distant. Thinking of its speaker keeps her awake most nights, his face appearing unbidden in her mind and despite everything, she aches to see it again. Almost unconsciously, her hand reaches up to touch the slight discoloration lingering on her neck; though they have long stopped stinging, she winces.

She still dreams of hands – his hands – choking her. And she reminds herself of it, in her weakest moments, when the silence is almost too great for her to see through. When the world is dark and gloomy and the fog rises so high and so thick she can no longer breathe, she reminds herself of why she cannot go back.

This is his love.

This is his devotion.

The bruises are damningly final: she will never go back. Not even for Henrik.

Poor, _poor_ Henrik. He was such a good child, one of her favorites – yet, perhaps that is why Elson chose him out of all the innocent children. Henrik has no future … and it's all her fault.

She covers her face and weeps, safe in the knowledge that she will always go unheard.

Jack Frost, after all, is only a saying.

,

She takes everything day by day.

It's an old method of hers, to live for today without thinking about tomorrow. Now, she clings to it and hopes that the hurt will fade with time as she travels the world, spreading frost and fun to all the little children – and even some haggard-looking adults. She laughs, she plays, the invisible friend to all the young ones. Sometimes, she nips them on the nose, but that is a very rare thing. She laughs and plays and tries pretending for her own sake that no hurt feelings – not even the smallest – rise up whenever they talk on and on – and _on_ – about the Guardians. It's always "Santa Claus this" or "Easter Bunny that" or even "the tooth fairy visited me!"

Sometimes, Jack thinks she hates the Guardians. Well … maybe 'hate' is too strong a word. 'Resents'. Yes, that's better. She resents the Guardians, even if only a little bit.

But they protect children and that is enough for her not to hate them outright. Jack isn't naïve – she knows the world is dangerous, knows that not every kindly-faced stranger is what they might seem. People, she knows now, have many faces, not all of them kind.

Her heart hurts; it's been so long since she's talked to anyone, anyone at all. But she touches her neck and slinks back into the forest to settle on a thick tree branch for the rest of the night.

It is cruel, she thinks to herself, to learn what company is and then have to do without it.

,

It's a harsh winter and, for some reason or other, some of the children in the town have gone missing. Jack, along with their worried relatives, search the regular play areas for them but when nothing shows up, she ventures deep into the heart of the forest. She searches high and low, leaving no stone unturned or cave unexplored. Still, they are nowhere to be found.

Children continue to disappear, one by one, and the people begin to panic. Jack thinks of Elson and a shiver slides down her spine. But he is far, far away in the north, lurking somewhere in the depths of his palace. She can't imagine him venturing so far out into the world even though she knows that he must, when she remembers his library and the materials in his workroom. Still, why would he come _here_? There's nothing in this town.

…Jack is in this town.

The small hairs on the back of her neck stand on end at the thought. Surely, he wouldn't; he had let her go, when he could have easily killed her or … kept her instead. He wouldn't just start looking for Jack, would he? And not like this, making children disappear to get her attention. Surely he wouldn't stoop as low as that.

But she thinks of Henrik and decides that, yes, he just might.

In the end, it's only by chance that she sees it happen.

It's a man – not even a great, mean-looking grizzly of a man; in the right light, Jack can easily admit that he would probably even look rather decent. At the very least, it's not Elson and a great weight rolls off her shoulders.

Unfortunately, he isn't Elson.

It's dusk, the streets are clear, and no matter what Jack does, she can't stop him from grabbing yet another child – little Laura with her golden hair, who loves kittens and Jack's snow days – and throwing her into a large burlap sack. Jack hits him with her shepherd's staff, screaming and yelling at him, but nothing works. Eventually, she follows him into a shady-looking cabin a very good distance away from town that Jack had just looked over some days ago. She warily hovers around the man as he uncovers a cleverly-hidden passageway beneath the flooring and they go down into a spacious basement where everything is pitch black - until he lights the furnace.

They're all there. Horribly, they have been hung from hooked extended down from the ceiling by large, thick chains, like great slabs of meat. They stare at Jack with unseeing eyes, still afraid. Still frightened.

Jack's screams go unheard. Her heart races as a cold sweat breaks out on her skin and she balls her fists and pummels the man methodically placing an unconscious Laura onto a metal table. Despair rises with the pitch of her voice and she is screaming, screaming, _screaming_ at him to stop, please just stop.

Laura's shrill voice mingles with Jacks as her blood drips onto the floor. And Jack is helpless, Jack cannot do anything because she is not _real_ she is only a _saying_ , only a chill in the air and frost on the windows. She covers her eyes with pale, thin fingers and watches through the cracks.

Laura screams.

Laura struggles.

Laura dies.

And Jack shatters.

The entire room's temperature drops below and the man swears in alarm as even the hearty fire in the furnace dies. His eyes dart around the room, his pupils shrinking at the sight of icicles fast growing right before his eyes. He is, Jack realizes suddenly, the son of one of the town officials. A supposedly trustworthy figure. Who would ever suspect this man of murder?

Something hot and ugly floods through Jack's veins as she watches the man hurriedly tries to escape the room only to find that the door has been frozen shut. Still, he tries and in his frenzy, snaps the handle off. He swears, panicking, begging God for mercy.

Jack snaps a particularly sharp icicle off the ceiling and flies towards him.

Laura's screams still ring in her ears as she sinks the icicle deep into his shoulder.

She feels Elson's hands on her neck as she pulls her weapon out and swings it down onto his face.

She remembers Henrik, fearful and alone in a cold ice palace so far away from his own home and she buries the icicle deeper.

The man's eyes dim as empty words of affection echo in her mind.

 _I love you._

 _You are so lovely._

 _You're everything to me._

 _IloveyouIloveyouIloveyouIloveyouIloveyou_

She stabs him until he is dead and then she stabs him some more. Jack's voice turns raw and she realizes that she hasn't stopped screaming since she's stepped into this horrid room. She sits on top of the man, now dead, and stares into his eyes, forever frozen in fear – just like Laura, like Henrik, like all the little children in this awful room.

There is blood on Jack's hands but she doesn't mind that as she undoes the straps around Laura's corpse. Carefully, she lifts the children off the hooks and carries them to the doorstep of their respective homes. Laura's body is still warm as Jack holds her, but there's nothing she can do, not even weep. It seems that her tears have been all used up and her eyes are shamefully dry.

Bitterly, she notes how she can only touch people once they've died.

"I am so sorry," she whispers as she lays Laura down on the front step of her house. She plants a tender kiss on every dead child's forehead just before she leaves them and returns to the cabin.

Jack crouches down on the floor and tilts her head, wondering at the murderer's corpse. What will she do with it? Hang it up on the tree? Drop it off at his father's house with a note? Burn it? What will she do? His father is an authority figure and she doesn't know what to expect from him. Will he cover up his son's wrongdoings?

She rubs the bridge of her nose before remembering that her hands are still covered in blood.

"You are a headache," she tells the corpse petulantly. "And I hate you." She takes in a deep breath, adding, "I hate what you did to all those children. I hate you. _I hate you_." And somehow, saying the words is a relief, even if only a small one. "…I hate you."

She leaves the body in the cabin basement, making sure to carefully cover up its entrance before leaving.

She never goes back.

Jack watches the aftermath of return of the children's bodies. The town is in an uproar and they organize a manhunt for the perpetrator as well as a search for the missing man. One day, maybe someone will find the murderer's corpse. Someday, perhaps the truth will be found. And maybe today is that day, given the vehemence of the crowd, but Jack doesn't stick around to find out. She flies far away from the town as soon as she ascertains that all the parents have found their missing children.

Eventually, she remembers to wash the now-dry blood off herself. She does her best to wash it out of her clothes as well but it isn't easy and much of the stains still remain.

Jack doesn't feel much better but she doesn't feel worse, either. Maybe this is how she will always be. But the world has just become a safer place, even if by just a little. The children in the town are safer now – _should_ be safer now, at least. She has made it so.

And, despite everything, she smiles.

,

,

* * *

 _Author's Note_ : After publishing the first chapter, I realized that the story might have had more a lot more impact if Jack had actually died. But I'd published it already and thought 'well, it's out. What to do...' And so, I began writing a second chapter. And I'm thinking of a third, to give a sort of closure to the entire fic. I'm still debating whether I should kill off Jack or Elson - or both. Or neither.

Reviews are greatly appreciated. Also, I'm genuinely curious: _would_ anyone like to see one - or both - of them die? Or do you think they should still get back together and somehow achieve happily ever after?


	3. Moving Forward

_Author's Note_ : In which Elson needs a hug.

* * *

,

,

Everything is quiet. Everything is dark.

Elson sits against the wall, idly handling an ice shard, one of the many products of his most recent … lapse.

He's been having those quite often.

It's difficult, being alone. Being … lonely. He never noticed it before, not really.

Not until Jack.

Oh, _Jack_ …

Sometimes, in the worst moments, he blames her, hates her. Curses her name in the hollow depths of his palace for opening his eyes, for thawing him with her warmth, for _burning_ him.

Still, whatever words Elson might say, he needs her. Loves her. And it only takes another moment for him to switch from promising her a painful demise to sobbing for forgiveness. He can never truly hate her. But he is angry and he is alone and there are times when he feels as if he might start choking on the air.

He loves her Jack but she is not here.

Cruel, heartless child! Did she never realize how much he needs her? Forget the world! Cast it aside! It may take care of itself; it has for so many years now. Yet a colder voice whispers in his ear that perhaps she _does_ know. Perhaps, oh perhaps, her love for him simply never ran that deep. She was – is – a child, and how can children understand Elson's kind of love, even if they do know of it? Knowing without realizing. It's an awful thought, another little thing that threatens madness.

Or, perhaps, he is already mad and simply growing worse.

What kind of love had Jack held for him? He never asked – he recognizes now that he was too afraid to hear her answer – and regrets it. The unasked, unanswered question haunts him like a vengeful specter. It seizes his heart in long, bony fingers and _squeezes_.

He loves her.

He _loves_ her.

 _He loves her._

And it's all he can think of.

It's rather pathetic, whenever he's lucid enough to think in those sorts of terms. A king of a once-prosperous kingdom brought down to … this. Whatever 'this' can be called. Alone in his hollow home, pining after a girl he'd frightened away.

Perhaps, she was right to leave.

Right to stay away.

Perhaps.

That doesn't mean it doesn't hurt him. Doesn't mean it doesn't sting. She was all he had that actually _mattered_. Elson thinks of his brother, of his parents, and though he can no longer recall their faces, he knows he loved them. They had also left him alone in a cold palace to idle the centuries away. They … well, he supposes that even they hadn't loved him enough to stay.

Just like Jack.

Everything that ever mattered always left.

Always.

His home has become his prison and he breaks the walls, shatters finely wrought decorations, cuts himself on their icy shards but the pain only drives his frenzy. He roars and rages at the heavens, demanding recompense for this awful life he's been given. And then–

Exhaustion.

He is tired. He is so … so tired. Like a rag wrung out one too many times, and he crumples on the floor in the midst of his destruction. Fresh and old wounds ooze blood and other bodily fluids as he curls up on himself, whispering and muttering and trying to pretend that he can stand living like this.

Time passes and leaves Elson a husk of himself. Ironically, the only thing he hasn't broken or destroyed yet is the statue of the boy. He despises it and all the things it reminds him of, though the glimmer of light and life trapped in the confines the ice has long since faded into a dull ember – still, he cannot bring himself to harm it. Tempting as it is, there's something equally foreboding about the thought of so much as inflicting a scratch upon the gleaming ice.

He thinks of Jack, out in the world, spreading cheer and warmth in a season for endings. He thinks of the sheer joy in her eyes whenever she used to tell him about her exploits and misadventures with the children. She's somewhere out there now, probably doing something productive, something _real_ that matters to her, if not to anyone else. He thinks about that and looks around in his palace. It's a grand place – too grand, he knows, for one person. Too big, too cold, filled with voices and whispers and ghosts that taunt him, jabbing at wounds that time has never really healed.

He feels trapped, but does he have to be? Why _should_ he stay? What, if anything at all, is really keeping him here?

There is … nothing.

But there _is_ a trepidation taking hold of Elson at the thought of really leaving his palace – along with a creeping feeling that he has never really stopped being afraid. He thought he'd gotten rid of that emotion – and in doing so, suppressed all the others – but now seems as if it was more a case of having nothing more to fret over rather than being fearless.

Until Jack came and turned everything upside down. Or maybe she flipped them back to the right side up, he's not quite sure. But things are different now and he knows his old way of life is no longer an option.

Perhaps there's something to Jack's love of the world.

He sets out with nothing but the clothes on his back and some coins in a pouch – currency that, although probably not accepted anymore, can still be melted down into something that can be used. His nerves fray as they rub together and memories he'd long pushed down on a heap of other things come rushing to his mind's eye. He remembers his self-imposed exile, the faces on the people when they realized what he can do, what he is.

But he takes in a deep breath, sets his jaw and steps out of the courtyard. The sun shining down on him isn't any different and neither is the air, but _he_ is different. Jack has ensured that. He also reminds himself that he isn't doing this to find her, though he relishes in the possibility; he is leaving for … well, for himself. He's finding himself and while he doesn't know what exactly that entails, he has a nagging feeling that this is something he must do away from her.

Will he still love her, in the end? He's not sure, doesn't know what the fruits of this endeavor will be, has no idea where he's even going, but he _is_ leaving his ghosts behind and that's quite a good start.

So he takes one more step, then another – and another.

He doesn't look back.

,

,

* * *

 _Author's Note_ : This chapter takes place during and also sometime after the second chapter.


	4. Truce

_Disclaimer_ : I do not own Frozen or Rise of the Guardians

* * *

,

,

From a cold, hard bench, Elson sits and watches as a small boy with pale blond hair skates unsteadily on the lake's ice. The child is an uncontrollable but well-meaning bundle of energy, still so young in years that it almost makes Elson weep to think of it. He had offered to help the little one out, but the boy was stubborn and so he had simply resigned himself to sitting on the sideline, making sure nothing terrible happened.

So much has changed, so much done during this handful of decades since Elson had escaped from his own prison, that he's afraid none of it is true. That he'll wake up one day still in a hollow palace. But every morning, he rises with the sun and discovers again that this _is_ true, that this _is_ real.

He feels a familiar, thrilling brush against his magic and he _knows_.

"It's been a long time," he says without turning around, without even looking away from his son.

"What are you doing here?"

It's not as hostile as he expected it to be. Interestingly, her voice is … tired. Resigned. Curious, he turns around and locks eyes with Jack Frost. She looks older, more world-weary – worn down, almost.

"You look awful," he remarks lightly before adding, "Would you like to sit down?"

She hesitates, her emotions conflicting in her eyes, before she floats towards Elson in a manner that seems almost … ghostlike. Not that he's seen ghosts – not actual apparitions, anyway – but her awkwardly slumped stature and flight reminds him of them.

For long while, neither of them say anything, simply watching the children scream and play atop the ice. Finally, Elson's son turns back to him and, unaware of the newly arrived winter spirit, breathlessly waves to his father.

Elson smiles and waves back.

"So you don't hate children now," Jack says with a raised eyebrow. There's a question in it, one that he can't help but grin at.

"No." He pauses. "Not this one, anyway."

"Oh?"

"He's mine," Elson admits, feeling sheepish and absurdly proud at the same time.

Jack blinks. "Ah."

The silence becomes awkward then, and Elson elaborates, "He turns six in two months."

"That's … nice."

He knows she's thinking of Henrik, still frozen in the ice palace. Knows, because talking with her now reminds him of the child, too. Guilt isn't pleasant but it _is_ a large part of being human, and though he winces, he does not push down the emotion.

He want to apologize, to tell Jack he's sorry and really _mean_ it this time. But a lump forms in his throat and he can't gather the right words.

She leans back on the bench, unaware of his quite struggle. "So, you're married."

Elson glances at her bemusedly, unsure if he should feel affronted by the implication. "Of course." He hesitates for another moment before saying, "Her name is Maggie. We met at a fair. She's a lovely girl, lively." Like you, he almost adds but catches himself just in time. Somehow, the two little words seem ominous put together in this conversation.

"And you had a son."

"There's another on the way."

"Congratulations."

And somehow, despite how dead on her feet Jack looks, she seems sincere. Even somewhat cheered by the news, and he takes heart in it. A tension he had no idea was there falls off his shoulders.

Odd – he never realized how much he wanted her to accept the changes in his life.

He remembers the little moments he and Jack had shared before, the promises made. It strikes him as ironic that for all his mania in keeping Jack before – and his hatred of everything else – he's now the one with a family of his own. Jack, on the other hand … she looks like she's been put through a meat grinder.

"Were you there for the war?" she asks suddenly.

He glances at her, pushing down all the hellish memories that her question stirs up. "Dear one, I even fought in it." He cards a hand through his hair, feeling the uncomfortable weight of her gaze on him. He can't read her emotions like he used to; it's as if a veil has fallen over her normally expressive face.

"You're … full of surprises."

And Elson probably is. If anyone had told him back then that he would one day be part of a happy family, he would have laughed – or blasted the jester with a face full of ice for his poor choice for a joke.

"His name is Jack."

She stares at him.

"You … named your firstborn son … after your old girlfriend?" she asks, almost choking on her own words.

"Well, anything sounds terrible if you say it like _that_." And yes, Elson did know even back then that it was a ridiculous idea. "But you've always been important to me," he explains earnestly. "Maybe not in the same way anymore – especially not after meeting Maggie – but you _are_ important."

If he hadn't met Jack … would he still be in his ice palace? Passing the days on one project after another?

Elson shivers.

"You've changed," she murmurs, as if to herself. Then, she looked up at him, and, even somewhat dimmed over the course of the years, Elson recognizes the old fire that once drew him in. He'd been addicted to that fire, desperately craving what he lacked. But he has one of his own now, one that Maggie and his son – and soon his newborn – nurtures and keeps alive even in the coldest of winters. "I'm happy for you," she says with a soft, beautiful smile.

"Thank you. And..." He hesitates before finally saying, "I'm sorry. For everything."

She nods once with a thoughtful expression. It's not enough - he doesn't think anything will ever be enough - but it's a start down a better road.

There are a lot of questions between the two of them; Elson particularly wants to know what exactly has happened to Jack for her to look so much older. He's curious as well as hopeful that she, too, might have found a companion of her own, someone who makes life wonderful and worth everything. He wonders how much she still resents him. He also knows the questions that she likely has for him, knows the inevitable end of this small breath of peace that Elson has fought for will come in just a few unbearably short decades. He knows this, accepts that things cannot last forever. And yet he decided that evening he met Maggie, while his wife and children draw breath, he will live. He will live with and for them as best as he can.

And so he sits on the bench with Jack and they watch his son skate on the ice with his friends. There will be time to talk in the future. All the time in the world.

,

,

* * *

 _Author's Note_ : And that's the last chapter. As far as I've planned, this is pretty much it for Elson's character arc (and yeah, he's still a bit strange; my beta reader found it odd that he would name his son after Jack...). I might make a sequel for this in the future, this time mainly concerning Jack, but for now, I'm going to end the story here.

I apologize for any mistakes that managed to slip through the editing. Feedback is greatly appreciated, and if you spotted some errors, feel free to point them out to me so I can fix them.

Thank you so much for reading 'Once Upon A Time'!


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